THE NEXT TWO KEYSTROKES

 

scribble scratch

furious

and fast

the pencil flies

the words fall down

and the paper is finally happy

 

i wondered how the paper felt

sitting there,

blank,

unused...

did it feel purposeless, unwanted?

or did it even care?

so i tried to become the paper myself

just for a while

and i was sure,

after that,

of nothing.

 

these days the paper sits

pristine white

in the tray of a printer

and the blank pages on my screen

remind me of a world that changed

still, i know

the paper will be happy

because when the poem has come

the next two keystrokes will be

Control

and

P.